Unhinged (17 page)

Grandma Lotz seemed to be shrinking by the minute. We sat opposite her in the small, white-tiled kitchen. Ron's chair was up against the refrigerator, and if the stove had been on, I would have had a burned ass. Ron turned on the dust-covered television on top of the refrigerator behind him. Sure enough, ABC was reporting a special bulletin from outside the house.

“Oh, my, that's my house,” Eleanor said with surprise.

Ron turned up the volume, and we listened for a minute. Gene Lotz's picture filled the screen, and the reporter continued to talk, touching on everything they knew about him, which included where he used to work, his nickname, and his only two relatives. The picture looked to be several years old, and if I wasn't mistaken, he was in the Dixie-Mart when it was taken.

“That's just great. I'll bet Greenwood leaked it to the press since we didn't apprehend Gene,” Ron exclaimed, catching himself when he turned to see Eleanor in tears. “I'm sorry, ma'am. It looks like there's a manhunt for your grandson. If you can help us get to him before anyone else, we promise not to hurt him. We know you love him, but he's done some very bad things.”

Fortunately, she had no qualms about talking. “I told Gene he could stay in here with me, but he insisted on staying in that awful shed. He cleaned it up nice after the storm, though. I knew he was in trouble. He never talked to me.”

“When did he first come here?” I asked.

“About six months ago. He told me he just needed a place to sleep every now and then. He must have stayed at other places too ‘cause he wasn't always in the shed. Sometimes he'd be gone for weeks. I had a spare bed and closet for him. Why would he refuse that?” Her body began trembling as if she were holding on to a lawn mower.

“I told Bruce that boy was no good,” Eleanor continued. “He tried raising him right, just like my late husband, Arthur, and I did with him. Bruce turned out no good and so did that bastard of his.”

“It is extremely important that we find your grandson. Do you know any other place where he might be staying?” Ron asked.

“I don't know. Sometimes he'd come inside to eat, but we didn't talk. I just watched my stories. We're not related,” she said, denouncing him. “We can't be. I am not related to a killer.”

I checked my watch and saw it was almost noon. I was completely famished. I did my best to ignore it, but if we were at Greta's house, at least I could get some peanut butter.

“Can you think of anything Gene might've mentioned? A place? A name? Please think hard. Take your time.”

Eleanor looked down at her veiny, white-knuckled, trembling hands. I could tell she was trying to focus. An expression of sadness came over her, and she lightly touched my hand. “I'm sorry. I wish I had a better relationship with my grandson, but he just doesn't talk to me.”

“How was your relationship with him when he was a boy?” I asked. I couldn't look away from her yellowed skin and liver spots.

“I rarely saw him. Bruce never forgave Arthur, so my son stayed away from us.”

“Why was that?” Ron asked.

“Arthur was a Marine. He raised Bruce very strictly, and he was punished quite often. Back then it was okay to discipline your children the way you thought best.”

I nodded, grasping her fragile hands in gratitude.

Ron laid one of his cards in front of her. “The policeman in the shed will let you know when he's done. Call us if you recall anything or if Gene calls you. We can't let him kill any more innocent people.”

She tried to smile at us but then put her face in a handkerchief and cried silently as Ron and I walked out the door.

R
on and I left Eleanor's house with haste, weaving around the microphones and cameras as we rushed to my car. As usual, hungry as a pregnant woman, I convinced Ron to grab a quick bite at Burger King's drive-through.

Greenwood had called moments earlier demanding that we come straight to the station. It was only a matter of how far up the ladder Dorrick had to go in order to get official pressure put on Greenwood. I was personally expecting to be suspended for a while. As for Ron, who knew?

We talked until we parked in front of the station, each of us formulating scenarios and exchanging ideas. I really didn't want to think about my worst outcome. I knew Ron had his pension, but if I didn't have this job, I'd be lost.

We parked on Conti Street a few storefronts away from the Eighth. When I got out of the Jeep with the day's stress weighing me down, I spotted a homeless man with one leg amputated at the knee. He sat against a pole holding his change cup with his scarred, discolored nub sticking out of his pants for the world to see and sympathize. His clothes were ragtag and as dirty as his whiskered face. The words he mumbled were in his own make-believe language.

As I walked past the hapless soul, dropping some change into his Icee cup, my heart and mind seemed to shift, aligning into proper perspective. I entered the Eighth with Ron, and a Zenlike feeling passed over me. I wasn't nervous about getting yelled at or possibly being thrown off the case; it was just a strange moment of calm in which I knew that no matter what happened, I would still be a sane man with two legs and a place to call my own.

Greenwood came out of his office under a full head of steam. “Lacey, get your ass in my office. Dupree, don't go anywhere.”

I smiled, thinking he sounded like a parent whose threats didn't hold weight anymore. There were six other detectives in the office with us, and all ears were perked. Ron walked past me with his proud demeanor weakening.

As harmless as Greenwood was in our own little ecosystem, this time we knew there were outside predators manipulating our jungle. I felt angry. It wasn't about right or wrong or even lies and truths; it was about
power.

I had been sitting so long at my desk that my ass hurt. I looked at my watch and saw I was right—it was half past eternity. Some of the guys asked me what was going on, but I shook my head and shrugged.

Finally, the door opened, and Ron emerged with a sour look on his face. “You're on your own, Deck.” He marched to the storage closet and emptied a box containing bars of soap for the bathroom, then returned to his desk and began loading his personal items. Everyone stared in horror.

“They kicked you off the force?” I said with amazement. The chip on my shoulder was getting bigger by the second.

“No,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I've had enough of this bullshit. I told Greenwood I wanted early retirement, and he gave it to me. I'm outta here.” His face melted into sadness.

I stood by his desk but not close enough to crowd him. “Don't do anything rash. You're pissed now, but that'll change. You love this job. Tell me what went on in there.”

Ron continued to cram things into the box. After finding room for his desk clock, he kept his hand inside the box as if it were stuck. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at me with glassy eyes. “This job isn't what it used to be. There was a time when being a good cop meant something, when you earned respect from superiors.

“I fought for you the best I could over the Lotz escape. I'm sorry, kid.” He finished filling the box and started for the door. “I'll be back for the rest of my stuff later. I gotta go.”

I began a short chase, but then Greenwood yelled for me. I stopped and turned around to see him waving me into his office. Now it was time for my punishment. I glanced around the room and felt like a dog that had shit on the carpet. Greenwood had his rolled-up paper ready to beat my ass as he rubbed my nose in it. Well, if I lost my job, at least I still had a woman who loved me, a house, and a shower, and I was ecstatic to still be able to wiggle all ten toes.

I peeked into his office as if expecting a bear trap to clamp down on me. He was sitting upright and stiff at his desk.

“You're off this case for now,” Greenwood said before I even shut the door. “I tried to tell them you were experienced enough to stay on, but the deputy director apparently contacted the mayor, who in turn called the chief, bitching him out, who then called me and chewed me a new one. I'm afraid he insisted you not participate. Dorrick told me he still doesn't know what he wants to do about your little fuckup at Lotz's grandmother's place. I don't know what he can do about it. It was an honest mistake. He told me what happened, and Ron told me what happened. I'm siding with you, and I want you to fill out a report. Recount your version of events and then take two weeks leave. There may be an inquiry, but Dorrick will realize there was no obstruction of justice. He's just a little pissed off that Lotz got away. He'll cool off, and we'll see what's happening when you come back.”

I didn't know what I was about to say; I just felt my mouth move. “I'm not going anywhere. Not when Spider's killing women from my past. You can't do this. Don't let Dorrick do it.”

“It's done. We have the list of women you remember dating, and we're looking into it. There's nothing more for you right now. If you don't want suspension, then I suggest you get going. The best way to protect Jennifer is by being with her.”

“What happened with Ron?” I asked.

Greenwood looked away as I expected him to. “He just felt it was his time to leave. He deserves early retirement.” He looked back at me and stressed the last sentence. “It was his own idea.”

I sat down, ready to hash things out. “I find that hard to believe. You know he loves this job, despite how much you irritate him.”

“Is that how you feel about me?” He acted like a man who'd asked the question before.

“There're two roads to go down here.” I chose my words carefully. “You can take the deputy director's side, do what he says, and let him push you around on your home field, or you can tell him how it is. Tell him that we're your guys and you're behind us all the way. Make him play his hand, ‘cause I think he's bluffing.”

“That's pretty idealistic for someone who doesn't have as much to lose. Your career is in a very different place than mine. I know this game better than you do, Detective, and I'm playing on a whole other level. I don't even know why I should explain this to you.”

“No, not wanting to explain it to me says it all.” I left his office, slamming the door behind me. I sat down at my desk to let everything sink in. I glanced over at Ron's abandoned desk and felt as alone as my first days as a detective. This was unbelievable. Greenwood was officially Dorrick's hand puppet, which made Ron right all along. The Feds were running this case from the day Wayne appeared.

I began my account with the events still fresh in my mind. If there was an inquiry about the actions I took during Lotz's escape, then I had better be ready for it. Deputy Director Dorrick was going to get what was coming to him.

I finished a well-written, three-page report on the day's events and left a place for Ron to sign because I knew he would want to. I took the papers with me when I left the building, getting awkward waves from cops who maybe assumed I was fired. But being told to take a vacation was a little different than going on suspension; I still had my badge and gun.

The day was as hot and immobilizing as ever. As my air conditioner sucked power from my engine, I turned down the street to my house. Hopefully, Jennifer was going to be home and not running errands. It would be nice to talk to her about what had happened. In the past, I had always called her before coming home, but this time I wanted to see her face light up when I walked in.

My car had just gotten cool enough to tolerate when I pulled into my driveway. In front of my mailbox, I noticed an unfamiliar black BMW.

I entered my house and saw Jennifer standing in our living room, facing a big head poking out of an Armani suit on our couch. I recognized him as Doctor “Big Melon” David Higgins from Children's Hospital, having met him at several Christmas parties. The “Big Melon” moniker was my secret name for him. I totally caught him off guard as he was twirling a pair of panties on his finger and smiling.